


Picking up the Pieces

by TCRegan



Series: A Thousand Little Pieces [2]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Meme, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 12:21:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 16,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1186154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TCRegan/pseuds/TCRegan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After rescuing Anders from the templars, Hawke has to find a way to repair the damage that was done to his mind.</p><p>Written in response to the kink meme prompt here: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/11099.html?thread=43328347#t43328347</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was the sudden screaming that woke Hawke.

"Shh, shh, Anders, I'm here, it's okay!"

He pulled Anders close, wrapping his arms tightly around him. The clock in the hall chimed four times. Nearly three weeks since he'd rescued Anders from the Gallows and he hadn't gotten more than four or five hours of sleep each night, broken up by the nightmares, woken by the screams of his lover.

"It's okay," Hawke whispered again, lighting the lantern on the bedside table. For the first week, Anders refused to even sleep unless it was lit. He'd always been leery of the dark, but after Karras, he was downright terrified of it. "Open your eyes, love."

Anders did, looking at him, pupils dilated, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow. "Why are you keeping me here? Just send me back or kill me."

And there was that. Hawke heard it regularly. Anders seemed to think he was trapped in the Fade, surrounded by demons who were trying to make him believe he had escaped. And Hawke had no idea what to do about it.

"You're not in the Fade anymore, Anders. It's really me."

Anders simply shook his head, rolled over, and curled up. Hawke sighed, trying to stay patient. He sat up and picked his pants up off the floor, tying them closed with an irritated tug. It wouldn't help Anders to see him so frustrated, so he took a breath before crossing to the other side of the bed, and knelt down. He reached up, brushing the hair from Anders' eyes. At least his lover didn't flinch from his touch anymore. It was progress.

"I'm going to go out for a bit. There are guards posted at the door. Orana's just down the hall if you need anything, all right?"

Anders' eyes were glassy, but he wasn't crying. He hadn't cried once yet, though Hawke had. Mostly in frustration or anger, but he was careful to keep it away from Anders. He didn't know how to fix him, how to heal his mind, but he knew that he had to keep his temper in check. Yelling at him wouldn't make things better. In fact, that was how all of this started in the first place.

"Anders?"

"All right."

The words were hollow. Hawke dressed quickly, missing the fiery personality he'd fallen in love with. Hell, the first time he'd met Anders, the mage had all but threatened them. The passion that drove Anders to do what he did was gone. Now he lay in bed unless Hawke pulled him from it. Hawke had been making sure he ate, helped him wash up. He even sat him in the library with quill and ink and parchment. Anders hadn't bothered writing a single line of his manifesto. He seemed to be a mere shell. And the worst part of it was that Hawke had no idea how his tormentors had so thoroughly broken him.

He could've asked Karras, but Hawke's temper had gotten the better of him. Seeing the man standing over his lover, whip in hand, not even the Maker himself could've stopped him from beating Karras bloody. That night was still a bit of a blur, he could only remember the need to get to Anders, to save him. Exhausted as he was from the fight with both Orsino and Meredith, and he quickly pushed aside those memories.

He had Anders' nightmares to contend with. He didn't need his own.

So he kissed Anders on the forehead once more, dressed, and left. The Coterie guards he hired were vigilant, two inside the main hall, two outside. There were also two in Darktown at the basement entrance just in case. Not that he expected anyone to break in, but he wasn't going to leave Anders alone in the estate with only Orana to guard him. He nodded to the men, who acknowledged him, and took the back alleys through the Red Lantern District to get to Lowtown. Not that the Merchant's Square was occupied at this late hour, he simply didn't feel like running into any of the city guard, and they tended to stay away from the Rose when they were on duty.

Shortly after the destruction in the Gallows, Bodahn and Sandal had left. It didn't come entirely as a shock. Hawke thought they'd be leaving much sooner than that. He was sad to see them go, but couldn't force them to stay. Better them than him, though. Orlais was a rat's nest of politicians and schemers. Hawke hated the problems in Kirkwall, but everything was more or less straight forward. At least for him. His worst problem was Meredith, and she was dead, burnt, and buried now. 

The grand cleric returned to find the city in a bit of a shambles, Knight-Captain – now Knight-Commander – Cullen in charge. He, however, was receptive to working with Aveline and Seneschal Bran to put things to right. They'd even managed to put forth names for the new viscount, to be voted on within the next six months. Hawke had declined straight out when Bran delivered the nomination. Once upon a time Hawke might have amused himself with the thought of taking the position, though he hated paperwork. Now? Now his only goal was to get Anders well again.

It was just a shame he had no bloody idea where to even start.

The Hanged Man was fairly empty, a few of the regular drunks face down in their cups. Corff was tending bar, sitting with his feet up, book in hand. He looked up when Hawke came in, but Hawke merely waved him off. He was there to see Varric if the dwarf was awake. And despite the late hour, Hawke knew he would be. Varric gestured him in, shutting the door to his suite behind him.

"You look like hell."

"Feel like it," Hawke admitted, slumping down in a chair and taking the proffered glass of wine.

"Blondie have another nightmare?"

Hawke nodded, running a hand over his face before drinking deeply. "I'm not really sure what to do anymore, Varric."

The easy banter they used to have was more or less gone. Hawke, exhausted from caretaking, rarely came down to see Varric except in the late hours of the night. There were no more drunken games of Wicked Grace, no more loud and bawdy tales. The whole of Kirkwall seemed more subdued and they weren't immune from it. Rumors flew about what caused Meredith to finally snap, though the general consensus was fairly close to the actual truth. Orsino's use of blood magic came with an easy acceptance that all mages were dangerous and needed to be put in their place, and Aveline only just managed to avoid a city-wide uprising to tear down the Gallows with pitchforks and torches.

 _Barbarians,_ Hawke thought viciously. _If anyone should be put to the pyre it's the damned bloody templars._

The bodies of Karras and the other templars in the bowels of the Gallows would never be recovered. Varric assured Hawke of that. Something about Carta, cement blocks, and the sea. Hawke didn't ask for any more details. Cullen had been pelting the estate with letters requesting an audience, but Hawke ignored every last one of them. He had no desire to see any templars, and was avoiding everyone other than Varric. Aveline had the nerve to ask for a statement regarding Anders, and Hawke slammed the estate door in her face.

People were starting to talk about the mage that the Champion had purportedly rescued from the Gallows.

"Maybe…" Varric started gently. "Maybe this isn't a good idea, Hawke."

"What's not?"

"You playing nursemaid to Blondie."

Hawke pursed his lips, hand tightening around his cup. "What." It wasn't a question, not exactly. More like a demand for clarification.

"All I'm saying is that maybe he'd be better with someone who can try to set him right. The Chantry has a sanitarium-"

"No."

"They have healers, Hawke. Circle-sanctioned-"

Hawke stood abruptly, knocking his chair over. "Don't," he spat, leaning over, looking Varric in the eye. "Don't ever suggest that to me. Ever again. Got it?"

Varric's eyes narrowed. He didn't speak for a moment, and when he did, his tone was low and even. "We're friends. Which is why I'll allow that finger in my chest, Hawke. But just this once."

Scowling, Hawke straightened. "Thanks for the wine. I'll be seeing you."

"Hawke!"

But Hawke ignored him, already on his way out and back home. Back to another sleepless night, full of hopelessness and despair.


	2. Chapter 2

Orana made a fine cup of coffee. Hawke was grateful for her, and increased her pay after everything that happened. He considered hiring on another servant to help her shoulder the load, but she assured him that she could handle it. It was a good thing too. People were scrambling to see what was going on at the Champion's estate, and he wouldn't put it past some of the busybodies in Hightown to send one of their own servants to spy on him. He would've kept the curtains drawn if not for the fact that Anders truly seemed to enjoy the sun.

He was sitting now in the study with the large bay window, curled up, looking out. Hawke knew that the neighbors across the way would likely be glancing in from behind their own curtains. He didn't care. They could gape and stare and guess. Rumors meant nothing to him. He'd started to write to other Circles, other first enchanters, even sending a letter to Kinloch Hold, hoping to find some sympathy and answers. There'd been no word yet, but he wasn't expecting a response anytime soon.

"Anders?"

Anders looked up, lifting his chin from his knees. He took the coffee that Hawke offered out of propriety more than desire.

"It's amazing," Anders said quietly as Hawke sat with him. "You even know how I take it."

"Because I used to make it for you all the time. And bring it down to your clinic. Don't you remember?"

Anders sipped slowly. "Hawke used to do that for me."

"I _am_ Hawke."

And there it was. That sad smile. As if Hawke was the crazy one, as if Hawke was really delusional. It was so patronizing, he wanted to scream.

"When will you release me from this? I'd like to know."

"I can't release you from anything, Anders."

"Until I say yes," Anders amended. "Then you'll take my soul and I'll become an abomination. No, thank you. I'd rather die."

Hawke sighed and leaned back against the wall opposite, watching Anders sip his coffee and gaze out the window.

"I wish I knew what I could do to make you understand this is real. Karras is dead. Would it help if I drug his body up from the Waking Sea so you could see it?"

Anders shook his head. "An illusion. One of your brothers already tried that. It worked too. I thought maybe that was the end. Then when I came out of the Fade, Karras was inside me. He was… raping my immobile body while my mind was in the Fade. He could be doing it again right now for all I know."

Hawke clenched his fists. If he'd known, he would've ripped Karras limb from limb while the bastard was still alive. How could someone do something like that? Not just to Anders, but to anyone? It was unfathomable. Hawke had his anger, he had issues with authority. He would hit first and ask questions later. But to hurt someone in such a way, he couldn't even think about it. And Anders seemed so nonchalant, it made him sick. Was he so broken? Wasn't there a way to reach him? There had to be. Hawke refused to give up.

A knock on the door and Hawke looked over. Orana peeked in. She was really quite good for Anders, Hawke thought. Mild and meek, unassuming and very quiet. He stopped flinching when she came near after the first two days. Hawke smiled encouragingly at her, though it was forced. He couldn't smile now without faking it.

"Sorry to disturb you, messere. There's a… a Knight-Commander Cullen here to see you."

"Tell him I'm busy."

"I did, messere. Please, he's awfully insistent. He says he won't leave without speaking to you. Something about fifteen unanswered letters?"

Hawke frowned. "Is he in his templar uniform?"

"Yes, messere."

"Tell him I refuse him on those grounds. No templars in my home. Not now. Not ever again." He sighed. "I'll go to the G-" He stopped, not wanting to say 'Gallows' in front of Anders. "I'll go see him tonight if he wants. I know where his office is. That should be enough to appease him for now."

Orana curtsied and left, shutting the door softly behind her. Hawke looked back to Anders, who'd turned to stare out the window again.

"Would it help if we went for a walk?" Hawke asked, though he wasn't eager to bring Anders outside, to subject him to the scrutiny of Hightown. "We could go to the Hanged Man. Maybe see Varric. Or visit Merrill."

Anders shrugged. "If that's what you want. It makes no difference to me."

Hawke resisted the urge to throw his coffee cup at the wall. It wouldn't help, and Anders would only retreat further into himself, perhaps using his temper as further evidence that he was a demon. He stood, taking Anders' hand and pulling him to his feet.

"I love you."

Anders flinched. "Please don't say that."

"Why not?"

"Because it hurts more than anything to hear it from you."

Hawke sighed, looking down at their hands. He ran a thumb slowly over Anders' fingers, over the scars. He'd seen the work done on him from Kinloch, but there were an entirely new set of raised whip marks and other evidence of torture on Anders' body. Hawke had paid a private healer, non-mage, non-Chantry to look him over. His body had healed, the broken bones mended. He was still severely underweight and malnourished and it was difficult for him to keep any rich food down for long, but he was physically intact.

"Let's go for a walk then. We can see what Varric's up to. Maybe get into some trouble like we used to."

Anders shrugged, and Hawke took up a cloak to wrap around his shoulders. Summer was nearly ending and the days were growing cooler. Anders pulled up the hood, and Hawke took him firmly by the hand and led him out. Thankfully Cullen had seemed to get the message and there wasn't a templar in sight. Their presence in the city had lessened somewhat, and he assumed that was Aveline's doing. The Guard was out in full force, but the sight of them didn't rattle Anders the way templars did. They received several stares as they walked through Hightown, and Hawke kept his eyes forward. No one would dare approach him. He could handle the whispers.

_The Champion's pet apostate._

_Took him from the Gallows._

_That's right, the night Meredith went insane._

Hawke asked Varric not to tell the story, and for once the dwarf agreed. There was the sweeping tale of how Hawke took down the first enchanter after he fell to blood magic, and the heroic defeat of the corrupt and evil knight-commander. But every one of the retellings left out how Hawke nearly took out Cullen on his way down to the prison cells below. How they found Anders' broken body lying on the floor, Karras over him. Hawke shook his head, trying to keep the memories out.

"You seem upset," Anders said. "I am sorry, but I can't say yes."

"I'm not a demon."

"You keep saying."

Hawke gripped his hand a little tighter, and led him into Lowtown.


	3. Chapter 3

Varric wasn't too happy to see them, Hawke could tell by his expression. But he greeted Anders warmly anyway. Merrill and Isabela were there, discussing the finer points of a good dagger and eating from Varric's brunch tray. Isabela looked up on their approach, her smile falling. She stood up, taking one last grape from the fruit bowl.

"Well, Kitten, I'll be seeing you around."

"Oh I'll miss you. I wish I could come with you," Merrill said, eyes shining.

Isabela leaned over and pecked her on the lips before doing the same for Varric. She came to stand in front of Hawke, not meeting his eyes, and not deigning to acknowledge Anders. Hawke frowned.

"Come with you where?"

"I… ah…"

"Hey, Blondie," Varric said, "why don't you come here and try the bacon. It's delicious."

Anders looked at Hawke.

"Go ahead. I'm going to be right outside, I promise." Hawke kissed his cheek.

Anders nodded. Though he believed Hawke and the others to be demons, he at least seemed to have some bit of trust for Hawke over the others. Hawke only hoped that trust meant that he was getting through to him. He waited until Anders was settled next to Varric before gesturing to Isabela. She led the way out of the room. In the hall, she turned, leaning against the wall with hands tucked behind her, looking awkwardly at the ground.

"You're leaving?"

"I have some unfinished business elsewhere."

"Where?"

She scowled. "Personal business."

Hawke crossed his arms, glaring. "I need you here."

"Well that's just too bad," she shot back, returning his glare.

Though she was much shorter than him, Hawke knew she could lay him out if she truly wanted to. He wasn't wearing his armor, and she was quicker than he was. He decided not to yell.

"Please."

Isabela's gaze softened. She reached up and touched his arm. "I'm sorry. I… just can't. I really do have things to look after and…" Her eyes slid from him to the door of Varric's suite, then back. 

Hawke understood. "He needs his friends, Isabela. The things they did to him-"

"I _can't_ ," she snapped, dropping her hand. "Don't you understand? I can't sit here and watch a friend break into pieces. And you… you're not doing much better. The dark circles under your eyes, the lack of sleep. Anyone who knows you knows you're barely holding on. I'm only telling you this because I care about you, Hawke."

The urge to scream at her, to accuse her of abandoning Anders in a time when he most desperately needed people who loved him, was overwhelming. Hawke bit his tongue hard.

"I'll write you."

He said nothing, not even when she leaned up to kiss his cheek. Instead he stood resolute, staring somewhere just above her eyes. She sighed sadly.

"Good bye, Hawke."

He watched her leave. How many more would walk away from them before this was over? How many of their friends would simply decide that it was too difficult to help? That they couldn't stand to watch Anders deteriorate? Hawke didn't know. But he wouldn't leave him. So he turned and tried to put on a happy face before reentering Varric's suite.

"And if you turn the card this way, it's worth more points," Merrill was saying.

Maker bless her, she was trying to reteach Anders Wicked Grace. Varric was looking amused, scratching out a few things on paper. Anders was watching politely, but wholly detached.

"Merrill," Hawke said.

The three looked up at him. He walked over, settling down next to Anders.

"Yes?" she asked, a slight smile on her lips. "Oh, did you want me to teach you some of the tricks as well? Only Isabela said I'm not supposed to show my hand. She meant that literally and metaphorically I think. Or is it symbolically?"

"I was wondering if you knew any spells that might help Anders," Hawke said.

"Help him to play cards? Magic doesn't really work that way, Hawke."

"No, no," Hawke said, waving a hand. "Help him to recover."

Merrill and Varric looked at Anders, who was frowning.

"Would that be all right?" Hawke asked, turning to look at him. "I know you don't hold with blood magic. But the Dalish, they know more powerful magic than anyone. Isn't that right, Merill?" he added.

It achieved the affect he'd wanted. Merrill blushed, pleased with the compliment given to her clan.

"It couldn't hurt," she said.

Anders shrugged. The response pained Hawke. Usually Anders was so adamantly against it, he expected an outrage at the suggestion.

"Hawke," Varric started.

"I'm willing to try anything now," Hawke said, looking at Varric. "The Chantry doesn't have what we need. It's time to look at alternatives. If I get word from any of the Circles I've written, I'll try their methods. But Merrill is here, she's capable, and she's a friend. If I can't trust her, I can't trust anyone."

Varric sighed. "I suppose you're right."

"Do you want to come to my house?" Merrill asked. "I have some books and things there that might help. If you give me a few minutes I can likely try a few different spells."

"That sounds lovely Merrill, thank you," Hawke said graciously. He always tried to be as polite and direct with her as he could. She had a tendency to take his words the wrong way sometimes.

They said their goodbyes to Varric and started the walk to the alienage, Merrill skipping slightly. Hawke never appreciated her more than he did right now. Though he felt similarly about blood magic as Anders did, finding out that his own father had used it shifted his perspective somewhat. He wasn't going to start forgiving blood mages any time soon for making their deals with demons and the destruction they caused, but he could see the benefits. And Merrill, after losing Marethari to the demon, was much more careful than she'd been.

It was also very hard to be sad in her presence. Hawke had seen her cry, comforted her. She always had a positive side, could always see a silver lining in things. He wasn't sure how she did it. But he didn't question it. He knew that the child-like innocence was merely on the surface. She was a capable mage, fierce and dangerous in her own right. And a good person. No matter how harsh Anders was with her, she never said a nasty thing back, and always remained his friend.

"Don't mind the mess," she said, letting them in.

Hawke stepped over piles of books and guided Anders to a seat. He remained standing though, watching as Merrill searched through boxes for the things she needed. She pulled out an iron goblet, a silver dagger, then disappeared down the hall to retrieve a bucket of water, a rock, and an old tome. Anders watched this process, frowning. Hawke squeezed his shoulder.

"It'll be okay," Hawke promised him. "It won't hurt."

"What are you going to do to me?" Anders asked.

Merrill tilted her head, looking worried, clutching the book to her chest. "It's not bad. I just take a bit of blood and water and perform this spell. Would you like to see it? It won't hurt."

Anders sighed, leaning forward, head in his hands. Merrill looked from him to Hawke. Hawke knelt down, gently pulling his hands away from his face.

"Love?"

Anders shook his head. "Let's just get this over with. But the next time Karras pushes me into the Fade, we're not playing this game. Either you kill me or you leave me alone, understand?"

Hawke looked up at Merrill.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked.

"As long as it doesn't hurt him," Hawke said, looking back to Anders. "Yes. Anything you can do."

Merrill nodded. "Let's begin."


	4. Chapter 4

Merrill had been unsurprisingly gentle. Hawke didn't understand the finer points of the ritualistic spell that she performed on Anders, but in the end it didn't seem to work at all. Anders was displeased with his apparent continued captivity in the Fade.

"I don't understand why you just don't kill me," Anders said as they walked back up to Hightown.

Hawke remained quiet, fists clenching. He had to spend the last fifteen minutes appeasing Merrill, assuring her that no, he wasn't angry that it didn't work and yes, they would come back tomorrow to try something else. She apologized perhaps a dozen more times before Hawke pulled Anders from the alienage and now he was starting in again on this.

"I just don't see the point of continuing this. If you kill me, I'll be knocked back into the real world. Maybe Karras will get tired of me. Though I doubt it." He frowned.

"Anders, please."

Hawke had walked a few steps only to realize that Anders had paused. He turned back to him.

"What is it?"

Anders was staring, looking past Hawke, seeing something that wasn't there. "N-no… just…"

Hawke took him by the arms and Anders reacted instinctively, a mind blast forcing Hawke backward off his feet. He tumbled, skidding to a halt. A few people shouted, Hawke heard a woman scream. Luckily they'd been in a more deserted part of Lowtown, no guards to see what happened. Hawke got gingerly to his feet and slowly approached Anders, who'd dropped to his hands and knees.

"No, please," he begged.

"Anders," Hawke said gently, kneeling. He reached out, palm up, fingers caressing Anders' cheek.

Anders sniffed, looking up, eyes red, shoulders shaking. "Did… am I still here? Am I still in the Fade?"

"This is the real world, Anders," Hawke said, other hand coming up to brush away the tears.

Maker, he'd never seen Anders like this before, and it was killing him. He could only guess as to the extent of the damage that Karras caused. Through short conversations and the things Hawke heard when Anders screamed at night he was able to piece it together little by little. He'd heard of the atrocities committed by templars, mostly from the tales Anders told. He'd seen the marks on his back and legs when they made love. It broke his heart to think of it. But actually seeing the aftermath of it, it revolted him. To think that the Templar Order allowed this to happen… He'd had a modicum of respect for them, but now?

Now he wanted to burn the whole damn thing to the ground.

"Come on, love. On your feet."

Hawke pulled him slowly up, and Anders clung to him. Hawke tried not to feel too hopeful for that. Anders saw him as a demon. Perhaps a friendly one. Were there friendly demons? It made him think of Justice, but Anders hadn't made mention of the spirit since his rescue. Hawke wondered if Justice was still there, dormant. And then he wondered why the spirit didn't help. They'd never seen eye to eye, Justice always seemed to resent him. Anders would laugh it off, stating that if they could have a proper conversation, it would be an ongoing argument. And to not worry about it.

And then they'd made love twice before Hawke fell asleep in his arms.

He shook the memory from his head and guided Anders toward Hightown. Varric suggested putting Anders into the care of someone else. The Chantry. Even if Hawke could bring himself to do that, what good would it do? The Chantry wouldn't be willing to try anything but traditional healing to help him. They wouldn't delve into blood rituals on the off chance that one might work. And Hawke couldn't trust them anyway. The Chantry allowed the templars to continue to do whatever they wanted. They allowed Meredith three years of free reign in Kirkwall.

No, he would take care of Anders. Even if it meant spending every last copper he had and searching to the ends of Thedas and beyond, he would do it.

"Sit tight for a while," he said, bringing Anders to the study. "I'll have Orana bring you some soup. Would you eat it?"

"I suppose. My body is deteriorating out there. I doubt the templars are making sure I get enough water. Or… maybe it's only been an hour. The last time this happened, I was here for four days before the demons let me go. But in reality, it had only been an hour. They told me that. Of course, they could have been lying."

Anders curled up once again in the bay window, the sun hanging low in the sky now. He wrapped his arms around his knees and watched. Hawke leaned over and kissed the top of his head, rubbing his back softly.

"I'll be back in a few hours," he promised.

Anders nodded, and Hawke left, shutting the door behind him. He instructed Orana to bring up soup and bread for him, and then outfitted himself in his armor, sword, and shield. There might not have been a reason to go in full plate. He didn't think that the templars would attack him or try to take him prisoner. They'd all seen what really happened, what Meredith had become. They feared him, as he'd gone toe to toe with the lyrium crazed knight-commander unflinchingly. But a little more intimidation never hurt.

The Gallows always looked menacing at twilight. From Hightown, they seemed small, insignificant. On approach, terrifying. Hawke still remembered the first time he saw them, coming into port from Gwaren, all the other refugees scared, shaking, hungry and upset. Ferelden refugees might be doing a bit better for themselves now though, working the Bone Pit that Hawke now owed, or setting up their own shops. Still, it wasn't home, and would never be.

He knocked on Cullen's office door, the clanging of plate against wood followed by Cullen's faint, "Come."

Hawke debated kicking in the door but held off. "Knight-Cap-Commander," he corrected himself.

"Interim, until they find someone suitable for the position. Have a seat, Champion," Cullen said, gesturing to the chair across his desk.

Hawke dropped into the seat, looking around. It was still Cullen's office. He hadn't moved to Meredith's old one. Everything looked the same as it had the last time he'd been there, except there were mountains of paperwork now. The circles under Cullen's eyes had darkened, and Hawke was glad. Why should Cullen get any more sleep than he was currently getting? The templars had caused this pain to Anders, it was only fitting that they received some of it back.

"I wanted to inform you that the tunnels under the Gallows have been sealed off. The only way in or out now is by boat."

"Why should I care?" Hawke asked.

It made it worse, actually. He wasn't sure who else other than Selby was in the underground, but those tunnels had been integral in getting mages to safety. She was already livid with him, blaming him in part for what the templars put Anders through. This is something else she would hold over him.

_Sod it. I don't care._

He had other things to worry about it.

"No other mages will ever be taken to the cells under-" Cullen cut off, seeing Hawke's murderous glare. He cleared his throat. "Yes, well, the real reason I called you here. The apostate-"

"Anders," Hawke growled. "He has a name. As do all the other mages in your _care_." He spat the last word, fists clenching.

"Yes," Cullen said, frowning, uncomfortable. "Seeing as he is an apostate, we need to-"

"No."

"-take him. I'm sorry?"

"No," Hawke said again.

Cullen's discomfort increased. "It's the law…"

"Then you find a loophole. You're not taking him. You try and I'll kill you." Hawke spoke very quietly, but clearly, his tone measured, his temper building.

Perhaps Cullen sensed the calm before the storm. "I… well. I see. I will certainly look into it, Champion. In the meantime, perhaps we could send someone to evaluate-"

"Why?"

"He spent a lot of time in the Fade. It's possible-"

"He's not an abomination." The urge to stick a sword through Cullen's face was increasing every time the man opened his mouth.

"Champion, I don't like this any more than you-"

"Oh I highly doubt that," Hawke said, words dripping with vitriol.

"If a Chantry-sanctioned healer can give us a report, I can make a case for you keeping the apos- Anders," he corrected himself, "in your home instead of here."

Hawke held his gaze for an uncomfortably long time. "Fine," he said finally. "Send Sebastian Vael."

"Sebastian Vael is a brother of the Chantry. He's not a healer-"

"Then you get Vael to find a healer and send them both. If one of your lackeys shows up at my door without him, you'll need a mop to clean them from the stone. Got it?"

Cullen frowned, clearly upset with the threat, but said nothing. "Very well, Champion. I'll see to it personally." He stood and offered his hand.

Hawke left, leaving the door wide open. Slamming it would have been more satisfying perhaps, but the insult was more apparent this way. He ignored the looks the other templars gave him and crossed the bay back to the docks, fuming.

They would take Anders over his cold dead body.


	5. Chapter 5

Before everything that happened, Hawke would have said he was tentative acquaintances with Sebastian Vael. He always had a carefully guarded skepticism for the Chantry and their preaching. The Chanter in Lothering would greet him whenever he had to venture into the town, and Hawke on occasion had stopped to listen to him recite a few things. But overall he was not a Maker-fearing man, and Sebastian's, 'Put all your trust in Him and He will see you through it,' persona had put him off. Hawke also disliked the prospects of Sebastian's idle threats to turn in Anders and Merrill. But now?

"How is he?"

Hawke glanced back at Anders who was sitting cross-legged on the couch of the parlor, wearing just pajama bottoms while a woman in Chantry robes gently prodded at him.

"Pretty much the same," Hawke said in an undertone.

They were standing in the doorway, Hawke staying in full view of Anders just in case he was needed. Sebastian was frowning, concerned.

"The Knight-Captain wants to bring him back to the Gallows?"

Hawke nodded, anger rising in recollection of the conversation.

"I would normally agree that any mages outside the Circle need to be brought in. But," Sebastian said quickly, holding up a palm, "the Circle just isn't the best place for him right now. I honestly had no idea they would do this to him. I'll speak with Elthina if it comes to it, Hawke. I will make sure the templars have no authority to bring him in."

The fury that flared with Sebastian's first statement petered out by the last word. "Why?"

Sebastian shook his head. "You know how I feel about mages. But Anders is no maleficar. He's…" He looked over to Anders, who was reclining now, head on the back of the couch, staring at the ceiling. "I've seen it before. When people suffer traumatic experiences. They're just not themselves."

"He thinks we're demons. That he's stuck in the Fade. That he's still under the Gallows."

"I wish I had an answer for you, Hawke. I truly do. But I will continue to pray to the Maker for his recovery."

Hawke bristled. But it would be hypocritical of him to tell Sebastian not to bother when he'd made up his mind to try anything. Still, he wasn't sure speaking to some old, dead god would actually work. But, "Thank you," was what he said.

The Chantry sister approached, Sebastian giving her a small smile. She looked up at Hawke.

"And?" Hawke prompted. "Is he infected with demons?"

She shook her head. "I sense no demonic presence whatsoever. He seems…"

"Seems what?" Hawke snapped, ignoring Sebastian's placating hand on his arm.

The sister jumped. "Almost as if he's suppressing his own magic. It's not something we usually see with mages, especially ones with a history of… willfulness."

"And your assessment?"

The sister looked to Sebastian, who nodded. "I… he needs professional care, serah."

Hawke growled. "That's not what I'm asking."

Sebastian intervened. "What Messere Hawke is asking is if Anders is all right to stay here or if you advise that he be taken to the Circle."

She looked down, sighing heavily. "I do not believe it would be in his best interest at this point. He seems unwilling to use any type of magic. In truth, if he were any more laconic and had the brand, I would assume Tranquility."

Hawke knew that wasn't the case at least. Anders could still feel, still had his emotions. And he was able to use his magic. But she was right, he was docile. "Thank you, Sister."

"I'll walk you back to the chantry if you give me just a moment," Sebastian said, touching her shoulder.

She left, and Hawke leaned against the doorjamb, looking at Anders who was still gazing up at the ceiling, lips moving slowly as if he was speaking to himself.

"I… spoke with Fenris."

Hawke glanced at Sebastian, eyebrow raised. "Oh?"

He hadn't seen much of Fenris personally since the night of the attack. He'd been in the Hanged Man a few times when Hawke brought Anders in, but kept his head down and didn't really acknowledge them.

"I hope I haven't broken confidence," Sebastian said tentatively. "We discussed what happened to Anders. Vaguely, of course. But it seems that he might have a suggestion."

"Why didn't he come to me himself with this?" Hawke asked.

"Fenris respects you, but he has trouble putting more complicated emotions to words. He was never taught how to express himself beyond…" Sebastian gestured, looking for the word.

"Glowing?" Hawke suggested.

Sebastian let out a small laugh. "Yes, quite. He's concerned, I believe, for both you and Anders."

Hawke snorted. "He hates Anders, why would he care?"

"He might have had disagreements with him in the past-"

"Shouting matches," Hawke interjected.

"Yes, those as well," Sebastian continued patiently. "But whatever they are to one another, I don't believe Fenris ever wanted to think that templars were capable of something like this. Seeing it face to face shook something in him. I think it brought up memories of when he was a slave in Tevinter."

Hawke considered this. It made sense. Fenris never talked a lot about his life in Tevinter, at least to him. He knew the elf was somewhat close to Sebastian though, and perhaps they talked about it at length. Regardless, Tevinter seemed an awful place unless you were a powerful magister.

"He's got a good heart, Fenris. I helped him write a letter to someone he knew in Tevinter. Someone who might be willing to help."

Hawke frowned. "A magister."

"Aye, a magister. But to hear Fenris tell it, he wasn't a very powerful man. He holds lands and keeps slaves, but he appeared to not be anything like Danarius."

Hawke looked at Anders, who moved to go to the bay window again, despite it being dark now. He curled up, shivering a bit, hair falling in his eyes, and he was rocking slightly.

"What did he say?"

"The man's name is Faustinus Scaevola. He apparently owns a vineyard in Solas near the Nevarran border. He's willing to receive you both and assist you. For a substantial sum, of course."

"Of course," Hawke snarled. "It's always coin. Fine. I'll… go talk to Fenris about it and get the details."

"You know how I feel about blood magic-"

"So keep your mouth shut," Hawke said curtly. Then he sighed, turning to him. "I'm sorry."

Sebastian nodded. "It's fine, I understand. If it were my family, I would do the same."

At least there was that, Hawke thought. "Thank you. I suppose now I don't have anyone to answer to. The viscount and Meredith dead. Elthina seems to want nothing to do with me. I might be Champion in name but I haven't received a letter to fetch a lost necklace in a long time."

"I believe the people of Kirkwall understand."

Hawke scoffed. "Or they're scared."

Sebastian nodded with a slight smile. "Or that. I'll see myself out."

He offered his hand, and Hawke shook it, thanking him again before approaching Anders.

"You look cold," Hawke said, pulling the blanket from the couch.

"It's always cold in the Fade. Spirits or demons, it doesn't matter. You say you're not a demon," he said, looking up as Hawke draped the blanket over his shoulders.

"I'm not," Hawke agreed.

"Perhaps you're a spirit then. A good spirit. Valor?"

Hawke shook his head. "I'm not a spirit, Anders."

"Hm." Anders tugged the blanket around him. "Spirits aren't very nice either. So either you're a pride demon or a desire demon with a lot of patience, or you're a spirit. I appreciate what you're trying to do. But if you really want to help, you should put a knife through my heart and send me back to Karras."

Hawke sighed heavily. He couldn't handle this tonight. "I'm going to go to bed. Will you come?"

Anders shrugged.

"I love you."

"Please don't say that."

Hawke quickly leaned down and kissed his cheek before leaving. The urge to hit something was rising. Instead, he went to the kitchens, took up three bottles of wine and a glass, and retired to their bedroom. It was going to be a very long night.


	6. Chapter 6

Fenris refused to come with them to Tevinter. Hawke understood, though it didn't stop him from being irritated with the situation. Varric had his Merchant's Guild duties and something like a trek to Solas would take him away for far too long. Likewise Sebastian was unable to join them. Hawke didn't bother to ask Aveline, knowing she had her own duties and they were still on professional speaking terms only. Which left Merrill, and Hawke didn't want to press her further into temptation. She was already helping them with the blood ritual. Throwing her head first into the wolves' den was no way to repay her. So in the end, he paid two members of the Coterie and Markus, the guardsman who acted as his jailor when Aveline had him arrested.

Markus declined at first, but Hawke offered to pay him for the missed patrols. Aveline, of course, was furious. But even guardsmen were allowed vacation time. So it was that they packed up and headed to Solas to meet the magister that Fenris spoke about. Hawke had never been so far north, and the journey was uncomfortably long. The further they went, the warmer it seemed to get though, and he was at least grateful for that. Anders was still much too thin and susceptible to illness. He also never seemed to want to heal himself, Hawke having to urge him to do so.

"My master has been waiting for you," said a young girl in a thick Tevinter accent. "Would your slaves like to-"

"They're not slaves," Hawke said quickly, arm around Anders. 

Markus turned pale. Hawke had warned him, but the boy was horribly naïve. Perhaps he thought it was going to equate to a jaunt up the coast and back. Better he shatter all delusions that the world was anything but it was, than to be hurled head first into it later without preparation.

"They'll stay with me. Don't worry, we won't be here long."

The girl curtsied and brought them to a sitting room to wait. The Coterie guards stood behind Hawke while he sat between Anders and Markus, arm still wrapped tightly around the former. They were only waiting a few minutes when Magister Faustinus arrived, tall and thin, reedy-looking with slick-backed black hair, and eyes the strangest shade of violet. His goatee was wispy like the rest of him, but he greeted Hawke as enthusiastically as anyone. Perhaps more so.

"Ah, the Champion of Kirkwall," he said, as Hawke stood. He took Hawke's hand, giving it a generous shake. "I received word from Danarius's boy that you were looking for some assistance."

Hawke cringed. "Danarius is dead. Fenris is a free elf now."

"Of course, of course," Faustinus said airily, waving them back to their seat. "To business, then."

Markus settled in next to Hawke, and Hawke wondered if the boy would climb into his lap out of fear. Anders, however, seemed completely indifferent to his surroundings.

"I have the money you require," Hawke said, dropping a coin purse on the coffee table. "What can you do for him?"

Faustinus eyed the purse but didn't move. He made a gesture and two slaves came forward, setting down a fruit and cheese plate and poured them all glasses of deep red wine. Faustinus took up his glass, swirling and sipping.

"His mind has been altered, yes? It would be so much easier to put him back together if I knew exactly how he was broken."

The way Faustinus leered, Hawke wasn't sure that was the only reason he wanted to know. Perhaps to get ideas? Or maybe get off on the tale of how Anders was tortured? Regardless, Hawke didn't know anyway, not that he would have told him if he did.

"All I know is that they pushed him repeatedly into the Fade. Now he thinks he's still there and he…" Hawke looked at Anders, whose eyes were glazed over. "He has nightmares, and it's like he doesn't see me sometimes."

Faustinus frowned, shifting back in his chair, sipping his wine. "I see. Well, I can put him into the Fade and send you with him. Or another of your companions. If he believes he's in the Fade now, dragging his mind into it might snap him out."

"Or it could make it worse," Markus spoke up. He faltered when they looked at him. "I only mean that well, when we dream we go to the Fade. And if he's having nightmares, that means whatever he sees in the Fade is making him… it's upsetting him."

Hawke thought about this. There was a modicum of truth to it, of course. Though Anders didn't always have nightmares every night. Sometimes the terrors happened in the day. Hawke was getting more and more reluctant to leave him alone in the estate, and on more than one occasion, Orana had sent one of the Coterie guards running for him. Perhaps it was time to move out of Kirkwall for good, go somewhere quiet, private. A farm where Orana could keep a garden, a couple of chickens. Maybe a cow or two. No need to deal with the city anymore.

But Anders would want to stay in Kirkwall. Hawke knew that much. He had to stay, at least until he ran out of all options. This was just another step to take.

"We go through with it," Hawke said. "We're here, we follow through. If it doesn't work, it doesn't work and we thank the magister for his time and move on."

Markus frowned, but nodded. He was there for protection, to observe. Hawke had noted his objection, but wasn't going to listen to him. Faustinus set his wine glass down and clapped his hands, taking up the coin purse and slipping it in his pocket.

"Well. Shall we get started?"

Hawke stood, pulling Anders with him. "My guards-"

"They may stay at the door and you can bring your…" Faustinus waved a hand at Markus, as if he wasn't quite sure how to categorize him, "into the ritual chamber. But no more than that. I'll need full concentration."

Hawke agreed, giving instructions to the Coterie men as Faustinus led them through his manor and down a winding metal staircase. Hawke kept a firm hold on Anders' arm as they descended into the dark. At the end of the staircase was a low-ceilinged stone basement. Squat bookshelves lined the walls and in the center inlaid in the floor was a circle with runes around it. Hawke felt the apprehension churning in his stomach, and he looked to Anders to make sure he was all right.

Anders was white as a sheet.

"What's wrong?" Hawke whispered.

Anders shook his head. "Are you sending me back to Karras now?"

"No. We're going into the Fade to see if we can heal your mind."

He shifted from foot to foot, pulling his arm away from Hawke. "This isn't… this isn't like the octagonal room. Where's the lyrium well?"

Faustinus chuckled, gesturing to two of his elven slaves. "We don't need lyrium. Too expensive. Not nearly as messy though." He tilted his head and sighed wistfully. "Ah. Well. Into the circle, you and your Champion. There you go."

Hawke gently drew Anders into the circle, holding both his hands. "I'll be there with you every step of the way. I promise."

Anders swallowed hard, but nodded. "If I go to Karras, I wanted you to know…"

"Mm?"

"It was one of the nicest hallucinations I've had."

Hawke sighed and looked to Faustinus. "We're ready."

Faustinus rubbed his hands together before withdrawing a dagger. "Right, then. Let's begin."


	7. Chapter 7

Traversing memories in the Fade was similar to what Hawke believed it would be like to swim in honey. He never lost sight of Anders, always kept tight hold of his hand. He caught flashes of the clinic in Darktown, the fight they had, himself storming out. He saw a young girl, a group of templars, Ser Karras's evil smile. There was a brief pause of blank darkness where he felt cold and alone, then a tearing, burning pain in his chest. He cried out as Anders did, and gasped for breath.

"Let me die."

Anders' voice, begging the templars for death.

"Oh Maker, please! It burns!"

Magebane. Poured in the wounds that the templars created. It itched and burned. Hawke could feel it on his back. Maker, is that what they put him through? And that wasn't the only thing. He closed his eyes against the torture, feeling everything that Anders had. Hours upon hours. Days without sleep, without food or water. Being dragged to and from that little cell, no reprieve, no rest. He couldn't handle it.

He started to scream.

"Pull him out!"

Hawke fell forward, and heard the sound of his own screaming. More than that, he heard Anders. Only he wasn't screaming, he was curled on the floor in the circle, sobbing, shivering. Hawke remembered himself quickly and forced himself to stop, pressing his palms to his temples as if that was enough to stop the aching torment of Anders' memories inside his own head.

"Andraste's flaming pyre!" Markus swore. "What the hell was that?!"

Faustinus looked pale, gripping the hilt of his dagger, the blade fresh with his own blood. He'd bled his slaves to get them in, but his own palm to get them out. Hawke moved at once to his lover, gently placing a hand on Anders' shoulder.

"Anders."

Anders whimpered, curling tighter, jerking away. Hawke let out a shaking breath, pulling Anders into his lap, stroking his hair, wiping his tears.

"Anders, it's all right," he whispered, pulling him up close, lips pressed against his ear. "Can you hear me, love? I'm right here."

"Don't," Markus said to Faustinus, who'd taken a step. "Just… Upstairs magister, please. For now."

In his peripheral vision Hawke saw both of them leaving, and was thankful at once for Markus's thoughtfulness. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, holding Anders in the middle of the circle, whispering to him. The trip into the Fade caused him to relapse, remembering every horrible thing that had happened to him. And Hawke… Hawke had made the decision to go forward. The only saving grace of that nightmarish trip was that Hawke now understood on a very visceral level what had happened to Anders.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.

"Please," Anders said, finally looking at him. "You've been merciful until now. What do you want from me?"

Hawke sniffed, clutching him tightly, trying to hold on, trying to be strong for him. "I want to help you. I want to… I want to fix this."

Anders nodded, eyes closing. "There is no fixing this. Let me go. If you really are Hawke, Hawke would let me go. He would give me peace."

"No."

"Then you are no better than the last demon."

They sat together for some time, Hawke with his cheek resting on Anders' head, Anders leaning against him, gripping onto his arm. Markus returned eventually, standing awkwardly at the foot of the stairs.

"Markus," Hawke acknowledged finally.

"Magister Faustinus wants to know if he should have his sl… serva… slaves," he said finally, clearly uncomfortable with the word, "fix up the guest suites for us. Or if they should simply get the carriages ready."

It seemed a waste to come all the way to Solas to spend only a day there. But it was apparent that this type of magic wouldn't help, would only drive Anders further into himself. Blood magic and dark rituals were simply not the answer. Perhaps Merrill's spells were innocent enough to have no effect, but Hawke was unwilling to put Anders through another trip into the Fade. Markus was right. Anders went to the Fade in his sleep, and there he found nightmares. This time, Hawke had merely joined him.

"Get the carriages ready. We're returning to Kirkwall. And Markus," he added, as Markus turned to go. The boy stopped, turning back. "You were right. I… I'm sorry. Thank you."

Markus gave him a pained, tight-lipped smile and hurried back up the stairs. Hawke let Anders have a few more minutes before helping him to his feet, pulling him up and close, letting Anders lean on him.

"I'm sorry," he said again, though he wasn't sure Anders could hear him.

Hawke declined the money that Faustinus tried to give back to him as they left, citing that Faustinus did the job he was asked to do.

"I dislike seeing another mage suffer in such a way," Faustinus admitted. "And a spirit healer as well. If I come across anything in my research, Champion, I will send my findings to you."

They parted on good terms, which struck Hawke as very odd. Everything Fenris had ever said regarding Tevinter had set him up to hate every single magister. Danarius certainly hadn't been anything like Faustinus, a slimy snake of a man who had the gall to imply that Fenris's leash was being held by Hawke. He would have to find a way to thank Fenris, knowing how difficult it must've been for him to contact anyone from his past, even if the ritual left him with more questions than answers.

As the carriage rolled south from Solas, Hawke stared out the window, holding Anders gently. Anders hummed quietly.

"It's Trials," Markus said.

"Sorry?" Hawke asked, looking over. He'd been lost in thought.

"What he's humming. Before they changed the Chant of Light. It used to be sung. He's humming it."

Hawke listened. It was actually quite nice. "Markus… you're more intelligent than I've given you credit for."

Markus frowned. "Thank… you. I think."

"How do you know about this? The theory you had about the Fade."

"I… had an older brother. He was a templar. He was an apostate hunter, though. No regular patrol, no garrison. Had a partner. There was… a group of blood mages." He shifted uncomfortably.

Hawke shook his head a little. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Markus sighed. "Pa told him not to join. Poor fool. So when I had a choice, templars or guards, it was an easy one for me. I never would've made a good templar, even though I believe in the Maker. That and… lyrium addiction. It's just not healthy."

"No," Hawke said, turning to look out the window again. It was starting to rain now. "No, I suppose not."


	8. Chapter 8

Upon returning to Kirkwall, Hawke lost all desire to be anywhere but at Anders' side. He endured the nightmares that now belonged to both of them. They were extremely unsettling and while they didn't leave him screaming and begging for mercy the way they did to Anders, they kept him tossing and turning all night. He'd never been more exhausted in his life, not even on the run in Ferelden when the templars had gotten wind of his father and Bethany. Not even in the Deep Roads when the constant pressure of miles of rock above was there to remind you that you could die at any moment.

Instead of visiting Fenris, he called upon him to visit the estate. Hawke wasn't surprised that it took him two days to come and when he did, it was with Sebastian in tow. Orana announced them, opening the door of the study where Hawke was curled in a chair, Anders in the bay window. Neither had spoken much since their return, and Hawke had only sent a brief letter to Varric notifying him that they were back. Hawke looked up at them and gestured to the couch.

"How did things go in Solas?" Sebastian asked carefully.

"Not good," Hawke said, rubbing his face. He yawned. Since his return he'd been going through at least two pots of coffee a day and that was barely enough to keep him conscious. "The ritual… it worked enough to enlighten me as to everything they put him through. I'm seeing his nightmares now."

"My goodness," Sebastian said, frowning. "Are you all right?"

Hawke shook his head. "If nothing else though, if I really wanted to I could write up a report and bring it to Aveline. Though the ones that did this to Anders are dead, I could demand reparations from the Order."

Sebastian nodded slightly. "It wouldn't bring you peace, though."

"I'm beginning to think nothing will."

Fenris was sitting nervously next to Sebastian, knee jiggling slightly. He looked from Hawke to Anders and back again. "I am… almost glad it didn't work."

Hawke was too tired to be angry for the statement. "Why?"

"The magisters feel justified in their quest for power when the end results are what they desire. He… bled his slaves, right?"

Hawke nodded, and tried to feel bad. After all, the slaves were used against their own will. The fact that he'd let it happen in his presence should have disgusted him. He was ashamed that it didn't.

"He will alter his methods in future," Fenris said, though there was little comfort to be taken from the conclusion.

"I suppose," Hawke replied, covering a yawn. "I'm sorry. I'm simply…"

Sebastian waved a hand. "Don't be. Hawke, you need to get some sleep. Why don't you go rest? Fenris and I will stay and watch over Anders."

Fenris looked as if he were about to protest, then quickly closed his mouth, pressing his lips into a thin line before nodding.

Hawke wanted to argue, but he knew he couldn't continue without rest. After being kept awake for so long, Anders had started to hallucinate. The body wasn't meant to go without sleep.

"Wake me if anything happens," Hawke said, getting to his feet, stumbling a bit.

Sebastian was there at his side in an instant, righting him. "We will. If I may make use of your library, I can research to see if there's anything in there that might be of any help."

"Sure. I doubt you'll find anything though. My grandparents didn't particularly like magic…"

"Of course," Sebastian agreed. "Fenris, can you take Hawke and make sure he doesn't pass out in the hall?"

Fenris didn't seem thrilled with the prospect of playing escort, but he seemed less inclined to stay in the room with Anders, so he stood.

"Anders," Hawke said.

Anders' gaze slid from the window over to Hawke, his expression carefully blank.

"I'm going to lie down for a bit. Sebastian and Fenris will look after you."

Anders looked to Sebastian and then Fenris in turn. Fenris quickly looked away, uncomfortable. Saying nothing, Anders looked back out the window, staring at his reflection in the glass.

Hawke sighed and trudged out of the room, Fenris behind him.

"You don't need to accompany me," Hawke said. "If you want, you can go. Sebastian will see to Anders."

"No. I will stay."

Hawke paused in the doorway of his bedroom, reaching down to scratch his mabari behind the ears, and looked up at Fenris. "I'm not… entirely sure what to do next."

Fenris shifted his weight, folding his arms. He didn't meet Hawke's eye. "You will think of something, Hawke. You usually do."

Hawke nodded. It was the response he expected from Fenris. After Leandra died, Fenris was much the same way, quiet and more withdrawn than usual. Hawke avoided talking to him about her death. After all, he had Anders to help him through that.

"Thank you," he said finally, and retreated into his room, shutting the door.

He collapsed into bed, falling onto his stomach, eyes trained on the cold fireplace. His head ached and his vision swam, and as he passed out from exhaustion, his mind filled with the memories of faceless templars, forcing Anders to service them.

He didn't sleep for long.


	9. Chapter 9

Things went back to normal, or as normal as they had been prior to their trip to Tevinter. Anders was at the very least getting a bit more sleep than normal, the nightmares seeming to be not so bad anymore. Hawke still had to force him to eat, to help him bathe. Anders had a terrible aversion to the tub and now Hawke knew why. He didn't seem to mind the ocean though, and once a week they took a trip to the Wounded Coast. Despite the approaching autumn and the chill in the air, Hawke would strip with him and bathe in a small pool created by the low tide. The cold water and the salt in the air seemed to calm Anders more than the tub they had at home.

Merrill continued her rituals, trying this and that, and while nothing seemed to help, nothing triggered an outburst like the one in Tevinter. Still, Hawke returned with Anders, taking him on walks through Lowtown and Darktown, even bringing him to the clinic in hopes of making him remember, making him understand that he was home, that he was safe. Anders knelt in the middle of the clinic, covered his face, and wept.

They didn't return after that.

"I got a letter," Merrill said one day. "It was addressed to you. Sort of."

Hawke raised an eyebrow. He'd been watching her perform a spell on Anders, who was lying in her bed, a small stone that had been soaked in her blood balanced on his forehead. Merrill handed him the letter. He took it with a frown, unfolding it to read the slanting, loopy writing that was Isabela's.

_Kitten,_

_Tell Hawke I think I might have solved his problems. Or at least gotten him closer to an answer. There's a little port city called Baia Rosso on the southeast coast of Rivain. It's easy to miss because of the overgrown cassava trees. No normal ship will get him there. It's not on any of the trade routes so he'll have to find his own transport. When he docks, tell him to let the harbormaster know that Naishe sent him._

_He'll want to talk to the seer. Her name is Ethelinda._

_Tell him to be respectful or she'll turn him into a toad._

_All my love,_

_Isabela_

_P.S. The necklace is for you._

Hawke looked up. Merrill was wearing what he supposed was the necklace in question. He folded the letter.

"A seer?"

"Isabela told me they're very wise. The Circle in Rivain isn't like the ones in the rest of Thedas. They highly regard their mages there. Their hedge witches are trained to traverse the Beyond and they know of spirits. It's worth a shot, isn't it?" she added hopefully.

It was. Or it could just make things worse like the trip to Tevinter had. But despite it all, he had made a promise. He wouldn't give up. Couldn't. He blamed himself for what happened to Anders, for the length of time the templars had him. Perhaps if he hadn't started that stupid fight or gotten himself arrested, or pursued him a bit more quickly. The guilt was overwhelming, and it wouldn't leave him be.

"I'll need a ship."

"Do you want me to come with you, Hawke? I've always wanted to see Rivain. Isabela talked about it so much. There and Antiva, though I don't think I'd want to visit Antiva. Too many assassins."

Hawke snorted. "Varric would say too many Antivans."

"Isn't that the point, though?" Merrill asked, head cocked to the side.

Hawke smiled. "You can come if you really want to, Merrill. We'd appreciate the company."

Merrill clapped her hands together, bouncing excitedly. "Thank you! Oh I can't wait. I should pack. When do we leave?"

"I'll inquire about a ship. Are we done here?"

"Hm? Oh!"

She moved back to Anders, gently plucking the stone from his head and then buried it in a little pot of dirt along with the others. Hawke had watched her do this several times before. She said it was an ancient Dalish ritual to draw out impurities and help heal the mind. Hawke believed in it about as much as he believed in the Maker and the tooth fairy, but he wasn't about to stop now. Just in case.

Merrill wiped the residual blood from Anders' forehead and helped him sit up. He allowed her to brush his hair and tie it back, and Hawke helped him on with his boots. He did seem a bit more like himself, perhaps a little less lethargic. And there was a quirk of the lips that always seemed to come once the ritual was finished.

"We'll be in touch, Merrill," Hawke said, and thanked her again before leading Anders out. "You seem happy each time we finish up," he said to Anders once they were out of the alienage.

"I was just thinking."

"About?"

"How easy it would be to give into this." He laughed a little. "My madness would be complete. If I surrender to this, I will truly be insane."

"You won't."

"A demon would say that."

Hawke didn't feel like rehashing the same argument. And Anders was in a moderately better mood than usual. Whether it was the ritual or Merrill herself, Hawke wouldn't question it. They stopped by the Hanged Man to speak with Varric, who promised him he'd keep an ear out for an affordable boat that would fulfill their needs.

"Not many smaller ships that really head out of the Waking Sea. You might have to suffer a crewmate or two."

Hawke waved a hand. "I don't care. But the smaller the better. The less people who know about this journey, the easier it'll be on us. Of course if you wanted to come along-"

"Dwarves don't do ocean voyages. Hell, we hardly do sunshine and trees."

"You're just the odd one."

Varric shrugged. "Born on the surface, I prefer it to the darkness."

"So you really think you can find us a ship, Varric?"

Varric sat back, drumming his fingertips on his chest, thinking. "I might not be able to find one for sale, but I can likely locate one for hire that's willing to make the voyage. But do you think it's a good idea, considering what happened in Tevinter?"

"No, but I have to try," Hawke said. "I have to do _something_."

"Heard back from any of the Circles yet?"

"Two. One in the Anderfels and the Fereldan one."

Anders looked up, hearing the name of his birth country and the country where he was mostly raised.

"Anything?" Varric asked.

Hawke shook his head. "All useless. Healing spells, suggestions of therapy and on it goes."

"This is a fairly elaborate scheme," Anders interjected.

Varric pinched the bridge of his nose. "Scheme, he says."

Hawke frowned. "We'll get through this." He stood, pulling Anders up. "Varric, I…" He wanted to apologize, to thank him. He couldn't find the words.

"Don't, Hawke."

"Are you sure?"

Varric nodded. "It's not easy for either of you. Maker knows you don't have the temperament for this sort of thing. I'd half expected you to break down weeks ago."

"Thanks for that."

"Get out of here. I'll send word when I get the ship. Take care of yourself. Blondie, you make sure he eats."

"Whatever you say," Anders said, though his tone was placating, and not at all serious.

Hawke exchanged a look with Varric, and headed out, Anders trailing behind.


	10. Chapter 10

Neither Hawke nor Anders cared very much for the sea, the rocking of the ship. The first time Hawke had been on a boat it was the trip from Gwaren, running from the darkspawn, running to escape a land that was being swallowed up by the taint. And now he was running again. Not away this time, but hopefully toward a cure for a different kind of darkness. He stayed in the hold with Anders, letting Merrill come and go while the two sailors – both elven, twin brothers – took care of the navigation. The ship (and Hawke knew it had a special name, he simply didn't care) was small, with only two bunks. He gave them to Merrill and Anders and curled on the floor by Anders' bed, gripping the hand that hung over the side.

It was a slow and uneventful trip that took the better part of three weeks, stopping first to restock in Ostwick, then in Rialto. Hawke let the others disembark, staying on the ship with Anders. From the hold he could hear the city, the people shouting in Antivan. He couldn't understand them, but it sounded very much like the docks in Kirkwall. Hawke thought he understood why Isabela liked sailing so much. Even if the port was different, it was still the same. Life was more or less predictable, yet wild.

By the time they reached the southern end of the Rivaini peninsula, Merrill had managed to coax both of them out. Even in autumn this far north, the air was warm. He thought he remembered someone talking about the winters in Antiva being as mild as the summers in Ferelden, and wondered what it would be like to spend a holiday there with Anders. Perhaps once they made it through this, once they healed his mind, they could take a proper trip.

He took Anders' hand, entwining their fingers, pleased when Anders didn't resist. Though he knew it was because his lover was resigned to the false fact that he was a demon or a spirit, standing on the bow of the ship, he could pretend just for a moment that they were heading off together to start a new life. It was a nice fantasy that was shattered when they saw the trees Isabela mentioned, and steered into port. Almost immediately they were set upon by men with dark skin and tattoos, piercings in their ears and noses, with raised spears.

One of the elven brothers spoke to them in Rivaini, a beautiful flowing language that Hawke hadn't the faintest how to translate. The men called back, and they were allowed to dock. Hawke carried both his pack and Anders'. He'd left his plate mail on the ship, favoring lighter leather armor. He didn't feel as comfortable in it, nor as well protected, but to march into an unassuming fishing village in full metal was likely akin to declaring open hostility.

"Oh, this is a pretty little village, isn't it?" Merrill asked, looking around.

And it was. Houses raised up on stilts coming out into the water. Naked children ran about with dogs, playing in the sand. Men and women were watching, relaxing, sitting in wicker chairs as they smoked long pipes and sipped the juice of some kind of native fruit. Hawke felt no divide here, only a strong sense of community. In Kirkwall there was a strict line between Hightown and Lowtown and the understanding that neither was welcome in the other's territory. Here, there was nothing like that.

They were led into the village, up a slight hill where a large pole sat directly in the middle of a circle, the carving of several gods near the top, with three fire pits surrounding it. Perhaps a ceremonial meeting place. Hawke wasn't sure. The lore of the Rivaini people was a mystery to him, and he felt slightly sheepish for not doing at least a little cursory research on it.

Their guide walked them up the steps of a small hut that was built from the trees that grew on the beach. The leather skin of an animal was draped over the door, and he lifted it, gesturing them forward. Inside, there was one only one room containing a fire pit, a hole open in the roof for ventilation. Surrounding the fire, several mats. Their guide gestured for them to sit, and Hawke did, pulling Anders with him. Merrill kneeled, leaning back on her heels, hands clasped in her lap, looking very excited.

It was only a few minutes before a young girl, perhaps twelve or thirteen, entered the house. She wore only a short white dress which stood out against her ebony skin. There was a gold stud in her bottom lip and a ring in her eyebrow, and she had white tattoos from the corners of her eyes like tear streaks. She gestured to herself.

"Kezia."

"Hello!" Merrill said with a grin. "I'm Merrill. And that's Hawke and Anders," she said, pointing.

Kezia nodded. "You wait here."

Her accent was thick, but they understood her easily enough.

"Is this where we'll meet the seer?" Hawke asked. "Can she help us?"

"Yes, very helpful. Seer Ethelinda knows spirits. Helpful spirits," Kezia assured them. "Naishe speaks very muchly of you."

"Ooh, isn't that nice?" Merrill asked. "I was a little upset when Isabela said she had to leave, but it seems like she was looking out for us after all."

Hawke didn't respond. He was still angry with Isabela for walking out, though if he ever saw her again, he would need to thank her for this. Even if it didn't work. He kept his arm around Anders as the leather flap lifted again. Their guide was holding it open for a tall, slim woman carrying a canvas bag. She wore a white skirt, her breasts bare, long black hair in waves around her shoulders and back. Her arms were adorned with golden jewelry, bracelets that jingled as she moved. Her ears were pierced all the way up, and she had several more in various places in her face. Her body was decorated with several tribal tattoos, some white, some black, off-setting her mocha colored skin.

Kezia bowed low. "Ethelinda." She pointed to the others, naming them in turn.

Ethelinda turned to look at each of them, then raised her hand. A ball of flame fell from her palm into the pit, and she sat across from them, cross-legged. She started to speak in the Rivaini language. Kezia translated, opening the bag and pulling things out.

"She say she read bones first, then she talk to spirits."

A metal pan, several bones of some animal Hawke couldn't identify, and an onyx dagger.

"Dragonbone, forged in depths far under Thedas," Kezia explained.

Hawke watched both in interest and anticipation. Ethelinda spoke while she sliced her palm, and Hawke felt Merrill shiver next to him. He couldn't feel the presence of any spirits, but something was affecting both mages. Blood dripped over the metal pan and the bones were cast. Ethelinda looked at them, pushing them around slowly. She was quiet as she continued to speak.

Kezia translated. "She says your friend is hurting. Touched by spirits."

"He joined with a spirit of Justice," Hawke explained.

Ethelinda looked up, then down again, muttering.

"No," Kezia said. "More than that. Much many more. Hands," she said, lifting her own, "reaching into him." She touched her chest. "Touching. Pulling."

Anders looked down, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white, then red. Hawke took his hands, gently unfurling them.

"They take Justice. Ethelinda talk to spirits now. Find out why."

Hawke nodded. "Thank you."

They watched the seer fall into a trance, sitting cross legged. She held her hands out, palms up, moving slowly in a circular motion as she muttered wordlessly to herself. Her eyes were closed, but suddenly her eyelids fluttered, opening to reveal milky white pupils.

"They took Justice," Ethelinda said in the common tongue. "Faith and his brothers helped him rejoin them in the Fade in order to heal. He was damaged by the anger in the mage's soul. But something went wrong. Something went horribly wrong. The extraction. The soul. The soul was left, but broken and shattered."

Hawke frowned. The soul was, he always thought, just a metaphysical concept. It wasn't something he thought about much. But he wasn't going to argue with a hedge witch who could traipse into the Fade with just a few drops of blood and speak in tongues. He knew it normally took much more power than that to do what she'd done. After all, Faustinus had bled two slaves nearly to death to get them in for just a short amount of time.

"His soul will never heal how it is. He is broken."

Ethelinda closed her eyes and slumped forward, the fire sparking brightly, flames climbing. Merrill cried out in exclamation as they sparked again and turned purplish-blue. A faded figure emerged from the top, legs hidden and wreathed in flame.

"Justice," Anders whispered.

Justice spoke, and Hawke recognized the voice.

"Anders. I am sorry. I thought perhaps you would heal. But I've left you broken. I've nothing to give to you. Let me be. Let me have peace."

Anders said nothing, but had started to rock slowly back and forth.

"You did this to him!" Hawke shouted angrily. "You left him like this!"

"It was not my intent," Justice replied.

It was the lack of concern in his tone, the mere fact that Justice didn't seem to care. He was free, why should it matter what state Anders was in?

"To the Void with your intent," Hawke snapped. "Stay the hell away from him now. I don't ever want you near him again. Not in the Fade, not in his dreams. Not here. Ever."

Justice said nothing else, merely faded into wisp and smoke. The fire died down to embers, the magic in the room which was palpable only seconds before, now gone. Ethelinda collapsed to the floor. Kezia knelt down, brushing her hair back.

"Is she all right?" Merrill asked quietly, looking over in concern.

Kezia nodded. "She sleep now. You go eat. Enjoy. She talk later."

Hawke swallowed hard, pulling Anders to his feet. As they headed out of the hut into the village, he wondered if there was truth to what was being said. Was Anders' soul really torn? And if so, how in the name of the Maker was he going to help him heal it.


	11. Chapter 11

It was difficult to enjoy the festivities that night. The fires in the circle were lit. The Rivaini of Baia Rosso seemed all too happy to entertain them. Merrill was thrilled to watch them dance and even joined in. Hawke couldn't. He sat leaning back, hands behind him propping him up, Anders curled on his side, head in his lap. Night had fallen slowly, but as soon as it had, the village was alight with music and song and celebration. Had it been any other night, had they been there to receive happier news, Hawke would've joined in. He might even have danced, as it did look like fun.

But how could he now?

He sat up a bit straighter, laying a hand on Anders' shoulder, fingers sliding down to his neck where he cupped his jaw, thumb brushing the stubble. Anders didn't move, didn't look up at him. He hadn't spoken since they saw Justice earlier that day. And now Hawke just wanted to bring him home. Ethelinda had told them the problem, but she had no solutions. Hawke tried to pay them, but they refused gold. So he spent the day chopping saplings, taking his anger and frustration out with a large machete to cut through the forest. At least he could provide them with firewood and building material.

"Let's go to bed," he said, gently pushing Anders to sit.

Hawke caught Merrill's eye and she came over, flushed but happy.

"We're going to sleep," Hawke told her, standing and pulling Anders with him. He was so compliant, back to his usual lethargic self. "You stay up. Enjoy the celebration. I doubt they see many Dalish elves."

Merrill nodded, but looked concernedly at Anders. "Hawke… we'll find a way. I swear it. I'll speak with the others in the alienage when we get back. Now that we know what's wrong…"

Hawke kissed her forehead, partly to thank her, partly to silence her. "Thank you, Merrill. Sleep well when you go."

"Good night, Hawke. Anders."

They'd almost reached the house the villagers were letting them use for the night when an old wizened woman, wrinkled and shorter even than Merrill intercepted them. She waved a vial at Hawke, handing it to him, pointed to Anders, mimed drinking, then folded her hands together and tucked them against her cheek.

"If he takes this, he'll sleep?" Hawke guessed.

"Sleep!" the woman agreed.

"Who are you?"

"Ethelinda."

"Wait-"

But the woman was gone, disappearing into the shadows. He looked at the vial of shimmery blue liquid and unstopped it, sniffing. It smelled like a sweet candy he used to eat as a boy. They never were able to get much of it and he couldn't remember the name now, but he remembered the taste, remembered sharing with Bethany and Carver as they sat together in a tree, laughing one balmy summer. The memory was so strong, the detail of his sister's smile, the sound of Carver's laugh.

"Maker," Hawke murmured.

He shook his head and led Anders into the small hut, two bedrolls laid out on the floor with blankets and feather pillows. Deciding that none of the villagers wanted them dead and if they did, there would be easier ways of doing it than through poison, he handed the vial to Anders.

"Drink that."

Anders looked at it. "Why?"

"Please."

"It's another torture," Anders guessed. "Another way to hurt me. Magebane disguised as a potion for sleep."

"If that's what it takes you to drink it, yes. You can think that," Hawke sighed.

Anders frowned. "Will this give me back to Karras?"

"Just drink the damn thing!"

Anders nearly dropped it, shaking now. Hawke immediately regretted his outburst and took a step forward. Anders backed up quickly and downed it before throwing the vial away, looking at him defiantly.

"You're cruel. Crueler than any demon I've ever met. Maybe you are a spirit," Anders spat. "Only the spirits in the Fade would tell you they're helping you when really they're doing everything not to. The motivations of demons are at least clear."

"I'm sorry," Hawke said. "Anders, I'm sorry. I'm just… running out of ideas for how to help you. If this were any other circumstance, I would be coming to you for help."

He sighed, knelt down and started unlacing his boots. Then he did the same for Anders, guiding him to the bedrolls. They lay down together, Anders turned away from him. Hawke moved close, wrapping an arm around his waist.

"I love you," Hawke whispered. "There's nothing I wouldn't do for you. I just don't know what to do anymore."

Anders didn't say anything for a moment, the sounds of the singing and music playing faintly in the distance. Finally he rolled over and looked him in the eye. "If you love me, kill me."

Hawke shook his head. "No. I won't. Ever."

"If this is real, as you say it is, then kill me. And let me end this torment. If you're lying, which you are, I'll be back to Karras and maybe he'll kill me."

Hawke kissed his forehead and held him tightly. Anders sighed and leaned against him, face buried in Hawke's chest. They lay like that for a while before finally drifting off to sleep.

For the first time in a long time though, neither of them had nightmares.


	12. Chapter 12

The reprieve provided by the Rivaini seer was short lived. Upon arriving back in Kirkwall, Hawke set to researching shattered souls. There were metaphorical essays and diagrams of what the soul might look like, where it might be, how it might be accessed, if spirits possess the soul or the body or the mind. And how does one know what the soul contains, what happens if you remove it. It was all just a load of…

"Useless bullshit."

Hawke sighed, closing the book. It was well into the early hours of the morning. He'd just woken again from one of Anders' nightmares. Orana made a tea to put him back to sleep and Hawke was unable to return to bed. He moved to the study, surrounded by the books he'd collected over the last week, trying to make sense of any of it. And when that didn't work, he turned to drink. Though the Amell wine cellar was vast, he'd managed to chip away at it quite a bit. Hawke had no reservations about bringing up two or three bottles nightly and most times they would be empty by morning.

He was drunk now, and having smashed his glass in the fireplace out of frustration, drank directly from the bottle until that too was empty. He threw it against the wall, the pieces shattering, falling to the carpet. It reminded him of one of the times he'd visited Fenris. Fenris. The elf would help. Not with the research, trying to figure out how you repaired a soul, but with his anger. His frustration. Hawke needed to get out, and leaving by himself in his inebriated state, he was making himself a prime target for bandits.

So he grabbed up his sword, stumbling toward the bedroom. He looked in. Anders was sleeping, the blankets pulled up to his waist, chest bare. He leaned against the door, watching him. There was a time when they were happy. Maybe it wasn't perfect, but they weren't plagued by nightmares, by memories of torture and torment. There was a time when Hawke thought as long as they were together, they could face all the world's ills. Perhaps he'd been naïve. Perhaps he'd been too hopeful, too happy. Perhaps the Maker was punishing him for something he'd done wrong in this life or another.

"I don't know what to do," Hawke whispered.

Anders shivered in his sleep and rolled over onto his back, hand on his stomach, fingers twitching. Hawke left him, stumbling through Hightown to Fenris's mansion. He tripped over something in the hall, falling thankfully not on his sword, but landing hard against the broken tiled floor. He heard movement upstairs, and then the slap of feet against floor. A thin, strong hand pulling him to his feet.

"Hawke, are you insane?"

"I must be."

"It's the middle of the night. Are you – You're drunk."

"I would hope so, after all I've had. I want to walk, Fenris."

"Pardon?"

"Walk," Hawke said, finally bringing him into focus. "To the coast. To the mountains. Anywhere. I don't care. I want to get out of the city. I need to. Please. I just… come with me. I want to…"

Fenris pursed his lips and nodded. "A moment."

Hawke was left swaying in the foyer while Fenris retrieved his own sword. They left together, Fenris watching him carefully. Thankfully they ran into no resistance as they left Kirkwall, passing through the gates with the barest acknowledgment from the guards. The Wounded Coast was normally fraught with raiders and smugglers. To traverse drunkenly in the middle of the night was a death sentence. Hawke found he didn't care. He was slowly losing his own will to keep going.

"Anders' soul is broken," he said. And when Fenris didn't reply, he continued. "We've been to Tevinter and to Rivain. I wrote to Circles everywhere and I researched everything. I read…" Hawke paused, looking up, counting on his fingers. "Eighty-four and a half papers on the Fade and the soul and there's nothing, NOTHING in there about possession and having a spirit ripped out of you…"

He was rambling, babbling. And Fenris was letting him. It was what he needed. All the frustration and anger that had built up since discovering Anders lying in that prison. He plodded down to the coast, waving his sword absently, banging it against the rocks.

"Why?" Hawke asked, turning to look at Fenris as if he had the answers. "Why Anders? He's been through so much already, everything in Kinloch, all… all the things… the Grey Warden things. He's just… He didn't deserve ANY of it!" He was yelling now, his voice echoing in the darkness.

They were far enough out of the city that the only thing Hawke was disturbing with his screaming was the wildlife. Fenris stood, legs slightly apart, arms crossed, watching.

Hawke turned and kicked a pebble, sending it cascading down the sloping cliff side into the water.

"And Maker help the next person who tells me it'll be all right," he continued. "Fuck the Maker! If He even exists! Why would He let something like this happen? Why did He let you get hurt?" Hawke shouted, turning back again to look at Fenris.

Fenris bristled, looking down. Hawke knew it wasn't right to bring up Fenris's past. But what kind of sick god would allow that to happen?

"I just… I just want to help him and I CAN'T, Fenris, do you understand? Do you even know?" He brought his sword down again, clanging against a rock. His arm hurt from the blow. "What do I do? TELL ME WHAT I SHOULD DO!" he screamed at the night.

He fell to the ground, dropping his sword, covering his face with his hands.

"Now, now," said a voice from behind them. "What's all this fuss about?"


	13. Chapter 13

Flemeth stood atop a large boulder, looking down, her arms crossed. Her wine-red lips were curled into an amused smile as Fenris stumbled backward away from her, reaching for his sword and thinking better of it immediately. Hawke watched her jump down from the rock effortlessly, stalking back and forth like a cat watching its prey. And he was the mouse.

"Hawke," she said.

"Leave me be," he muttered, head swimming. If he was sober, he might have been embarrassed at having been caught mid-breakdown. Now he was just tired, and didn't need to play word games with an old woman who definitely wasn't just an old woman.

"But I have business with you," she said, head tilted.

"Another locket you want me to deliver? I'm done playing errand boy. Kirkwall can burn."

"Oh of that I have no doubt," she said, her words slithering like silk around his brain. "You suffer."

"Brilliant bloody assessment," Hawke spat. "They teach you that in creepy old witch school?"

"Hawke!" Fenris hissed.

"Piss off, Fenris. What's she going to do? Smite me where I stand? Turn me into a frog? Kill me? Do I look like I care?" Hawke knew he was taking his anger out on his friend, and Fenris wasn't as gracious about it as Varric had been.

"I will not be responsible for your stupidity," Fenris shot back. "Provoke her if you believe it's in your best interest. In the mage's best interest."

Hawke looked up, getting to his feet, taking up his sword. He looked at Flemeth, her yellow eyes glistening in the starlight.

"What do you want?" he muttered, wiping his face. He wanted another drink. He wanted to pass out and not think.

"The one called Anders is more important than any of you know. A knot the thread of destiny has been created when he joined his soul to the Fade spirit. It unraveled eventually, but kinked again when the spirit was removed."

"Ethelinda said his soul was shattered," Hawke offered.

Flemeth chuckled. "She is indeed a powerful seer, but she cannot see what I have seen. The mage's soul was left almost intact, but there is a piece missing. A piece that disappeared along with that spirit, back into the Fade, like a leaf in the wind." She gestured idly.

"If he gets it back, will he be whole again? Will he understand that this is real? That he's not back with Karras?" Hawke didn't want to hope, but Flemeth usually had answers where there were none to be found.

"Indeed."

"Ethelinda said there was no cure."

Flemeth smiled, approaching him slowly. Fenris backed away further, but Hawke stood his ground. She reached up, two fingers of a gauntleted hand resting under his chin and looked into his eyes.

"I am not bound by simple things like facts and reality."

Hawke shivered. He wondered just how powerful Flemeth was, and then decided that he never wanted to find out. "What's the price?" he whispered. There was always a price.

She released him and walked away before turning around. "He was on a path, a cause. He must complete it."

"That's vague. What if he doesn't remember?"

"Oh he will," she promised. "But you have to make sure he goes forward with it."

"The… the chantry," Hawke recalled, pressing a hand to his throbbing head. "The sela petrae. Drakestone."

The fight that had started it all.

"Indeed. Do you agree?"

"Hawke," Fenris said, trying to talk under his breath. "Don't. Don't make a deal with this witch."

Hawke shot him a look. "Fenris, I have to. If she can help. If this…" He looked at Flemeth. "Yes. I agree. I'll do it."

She chuckled, lifted a hand up, and snapped her fingers.

"Is…" Hawke asked, looking at her. "Is that it?"

"It's done," she confirmed.

Hawke stumbled forward, sword in hand, hurrying up the coast, Fenris calling after him. He didn't stop, didn't care. If Anders' soul was fully intact, if he was broken from his delusions that he was still being tortured, Hawke needed to get there as quickly as he could. He heard Fenris running behind him and increased his pace, weaving as the alcohol threw him off balance.

"Hawke!"

He threw open the door of the estate and dropped his sword somewhere in the main hall. He tripped on the stairs, knee smashing painfully on the stone step. Swearing, he pulled himself to his feet and continued, barreling into the bedroom and startled Anders into waking.

"NO! STOP! I – Hawke?"

Hawke's heart stopped, hearing his name from his lover's lips. He felt almost instantly sober, and slowly walked toward the bed, not daring to hope. Anders was sitting upright, looking around, confused and scared. He clutched the covers, swallowing hard, breathing heavily. When he looked back up at Hawke again, there was recognition in his eyes.

"Hawke. Is it… I thought… The Fade. They pushed me in and…"

Hawke closed the distance between them, falling to his knees next to the bed. He reached up, and Anders leaned down. They kissed, their lips meeting for the first time in an age. In that connection, all felt right. Hawke clung to him, gripping his shoulder, fingers biting almost painfully into the skin. Anders pulled back first, fists clutching Hawke's tunic. Hawke slid up, settling on the bed, arms around his lover.

"It's really you," Anders whispered against his ear.

Hawke squeezed him tightly. "Yes."

"Oh Maker," Anders breathed. "I felt… I thought you were a demon. A spirit. All this time. I couldn't let myself think otherwise. What happened?"

"Flemeth. Your soul was broken. Justice took a piece with him when he left. She restored you. I… Maker's breath, Anders, I was so worried. I didn't know what to do." Hawke pulled back to look at him, pressing their foreheads together first, kissing him again before sitting back. "I tried everything I could think of."

Anders gripped his wrist, his other hand settling on Hawke's thigh. "I know. I know. I remember it. Tevinter, Rivain. Oh, Hawke. Everything you did. Everything you did for… for me."

"I would do it again," Hawke said immediately. "I would march into the Black City for you. I would take down an archdemon if it meant saving you. I love you."

Anders' breathing hitched. "I love you," he whispered.

Hawke nearly wept at the words. Anders hadn't replied before, had begged him not to say it. That he didn't want to hear it from a demon. And now here he was, saying it back freely. He kissed him again, deeply this time, holding him so tightly as if letting go meant losing him again. When they broke apart, there was an awkward coughing in the doorway. They glanced over.

"Fenris," Anders said, surprised.

"I… am… pleased to see you well, mage. Hawke."

"Fenris…" Hawke had no idea how to express his gratitude. Despite everything, their animosity, Fenris had seen it through to the end, both him and Sebastian. "Thank you."

Fenris nodded. He looked as if he wanted to say something, perhaps to warn him again against Flemeth, but thought better of it, and simply left. Hawke turned back to Anders, cupping his cheek, leaning in for another kiss before pulling back.

"It's not over, though," Hawke said. "I promised Flemeth. I made a deal to make sure you follow through with your cause. Whatever it was you were going to do, I'll help you do it. That was the price for restoring your soul."

Anders pursed his lips, looking down sadly. "It is a price I should have paid, Hawke. Not you." He looked at him earnestly. "The ingredients-"

"They're in the vault," Hawke said at once. "I brought everything from the clinic."

Anders kissed him gently. "I promise you, Hawke. I swear it. I will… I will make sure that no mages suffer what I've had to. Not ever again. Whatever happens, this will be on my head. I would give my life to make this happen."

"You don't have to," Hawke whispered, gripping him tightly. "I'll protect you. You tell me what you need me to do and I'll do it."

"Then… tomorrow," Anders decided. "We'll put it all in motion tomorrow. Tonight, I just… I want…"

Hawke understood. He stripped and slid into bed next to him, holding him, gently rubbing his back. Anders breathed easily, settled on Hawke's chest, listening to his heartbeat. They lay together, not asleep. But this time, it wasn't because of nightmares.


	14. Chapter 14

_Get out of Hightown. Get out of the chantry. Get out of Kirkwall if you can. It is starting._

These notes were written, dated and given to their friends. Hawke packed the essentials into a few small bags. He'd given Orana a substantial amount of money, a letter of recommendation, and saw her safely on a boat to Amaranthine to seek employment with one of Anders' old friends. Hawke locked up the estate, sending the deed and the key to Varric, signing it over to his friend. It was the least he could do, considering everything. They didn't say good-bye to anyone, leaving only the promise of future correspondence with Varric along with a copy of Anders' finally completed manifesto.

"Are you ready?" Hawke asked.

They were a mile down the coast, intent on hiking to Ostwick and getting a boat to anywhere. Anders stood, the staff Hawke had retrieved from the merchant in his hand. He wore a new coat, black with dark feathers that Hawke bought for him. It was winter now, and the chill wind pulled at them both. Anders gripped Hawke's hand with his free one, chin up, looking at Kirkwall.

"I am."

"Then let's repay our debt to Flemeth," Hawke said, taking a breath. He was ready.

Anders knocked his staff to the ground once. Then again.

There was a rumbling in the distance. A brilliant scarlet light filled the sky a moment later, and an explosion rocked all of Kirkwall. From their position they couldn't see the fires, but the wind carried the smoke toward them. Hawke looked down. The deaths of how many people were now on his shoulders? He only hoped their friends heeded their warnings.

"It was necessary," Anders whispered. "The Chantry will respond. They can't ignore it. The Circles will rise."

"But how many more will die before the end?" Hawke asked, looking at him.

"A lot," Anders said sadly. "But that's the price to pay for freedom. And we're not done yet."

Hawke swallowed hard and nodded. "If we can save at least one child from what you went through, it will be worth it."

Anders smiled softly, then leaned in and kissed him. "Yes. It will."

They watched the smoke rising for just another minute before turning away from Kirkwall and toward their future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the Flemeth ex Machina, but I thought it the best way to fix poor Anders and get us to a (somewhat) happy ending.
> 
> Thanks everyone for the support on this! It was a lot of fun to write and get around the challenges it presented. I hope I did the original prompt justice and filled it to the OP's satisfaction. ^_^


End file.
